A Faded City
by emerald1198
Summary: To him, she would always be Prop-master Clare.
1. A Chuckling Memory

Hey, guys. It's been awhile, I know. To be honest, this will most likely be a slow-moving story – I'm busy and in the midst of trying to tie up other fanfics. There won't be more than ten chapters, probably seven or eight.

"**Remember" will be updated soon. So, so sorry for the hiatus.**

**The first chapter is a bit slow. I promise things will pick up if you care to stick around ;)**

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Part 1

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**Reclaimed imperfection – A dark figure lost in subconscious – A familiar blush – Personality mirrored by stereotype – A chuckling memory.**

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Declan Coyne runs a hand through his disheveled curls of brown and dark bronze. He glances at his sister from across the room, his eyes struggling to balance themselves over the tall and majestic young woman that he barely recognizes anymore. Her own curls have become fuller, livelier, and they cascade down her neck, contrasting with her pale skin and the royal blue of her polo. Her lips are still thin, but they are no longer stained blood red; instead they are tinted with a lovely shade of a creamy pink. And they're curved upward at the edges. Her eyes, though – they catch Declan's for a moment, and he can see the surface of them, can stare deep inside of them and never find an end. Blue orbs no longer clouded by her solution to the pain, free of any red streaks or crystal tears.

Fiona looks so much more alive.

The figure beside her catches hold of Declan's now wandering attention, his dark clothing and guarded countenance smoldering Declan's gaze for a moment. His attire consists of a black t-shirt, clashed with colors of purple and maroon that etch the logo of a band Declan has never heard of and decides he probably wouldn't want to experience anyway. Ebony jeans hug his legs down to his ankles, stitched with the finest detail of golden streaks along the pocket seams. Declan cringes; it can't be a comfortable existence, suffocated by fabric of that prickly nature all day.

Eli Goldsworthy, Fiona said his name was, and it sounds oddly familiar to Declan as he plays it through his mind once again. It strains his memory, wringing it out with rather impatient force as he struggles to remember what brief place in his past holds the young man.

"Fi," he murmurs her name when he means to speak it a bit clearer, but she hears, nonetheless, and, once again, Declan is fascinated by the way her eyes light up at his voice, lips curving upward even more than they have naturally come to do so. He loves this new Fiona – no more than he did the old one, of course – but with much more ease. And, though he finds Eli to be a bit out of the ordinary when it comes to her tastes, he has a feeling that her new friend deserves at least partial credit for the transformation.

She spats out no "What, Declan?" or a distracted and quick, "Huh?" Instead, she just dances over to him, her creamy pink lips still curved and now emphasizing the blush that compliments her pure and healthy cheekbones. She answers him only with a genuine perk of the head and shoulders.

"Have I met Eli before today?" What he really means is _where_ because, by now, the memory is so close to the verge of recognition, yet he has a strange feeling that he'll never be able to retrieve it with his own consciousness. Those are the worst kind of memories.

Fiona's dark and slender eyebrows pull together and a flash of white appears as she bites gently on her pink lips. Where along the line did this habit develop? At any rate, after a few dragging moments, Fiona's thoughtful expression falters and finally disappears all together as a sparkle of recognition ignites in her eyes. "You may have met him during the theater awards you came down for early this year . . . Of course, you were a tad distracted during that visit," she chuckles, and Declan barely has time to ponder the thought of his sister saying _a tad _because his thoughts are immediately blending into the memories of Holly J. Sinclair.

He notices HJ from time to time around campus, her once frazzled expression now dulled to a genuine contentedness. Her arms are still wrapped around stacks of textbooks that may as well be a physical feature of hers, and, the one time Declan caught a glimpse of her agenda, he saw that it was still decorated with black ink that filled every square inch of each calendar box, etched in only the neatest handwriting of Holly J.'s ability. But there's something about the way she goes about it all – managing with enthusiasm that is no longer forced but genuine.

Her blush is still the same, though – which is what he receives every time they are within close proximity. It lights up the adorable freckles that scatter her perfect cheek bones and blends into the smooth, amber strands of hair that flip this way and that over her shoulders. Sometimes, he finds himself wandering how he could have let a girl like that go, and then reality and the past stumbles in with a sharp jolt on his shoulders – she broke up with _him._

Fiona, oblivious to his wandering thoughts, adds in to what she hopes to be another helpful detail. At the first sound of her voice, he's barely listening, almost already having decided that whatever she has to say can wait to be dealt with until after he finishes reminiscing of his first love. But, in the brief moment she speaks, Fiona sparks on a topic that brings chuckling memories back to Declan.

"He was Clare Edwards's boyfriend," she indicates, her voice dropping to just above a whisper, which Declan presumes links to the past tense she has just used and the presence of their topic within reasonable hearing distance. "You remember Clare, right?"

Does he remember Clare Edwards? If it isn't for Fiona's lack of knowledge on the memory, he might have laughed at the absurdity of the question. There are a lot of things that are quite easy to forget in this world, loads of memories that are shuffled around until they can't be distinguished from others. But the little ninth grader who developed a crush on him his senior year, going so far as to write vampire fanfiction centered around him and post it on the school's website – Well, that was a memory quite hard to shake, one that he never dismissed, retrieving every once in awhile when he needed a grin.

Clare was a driven and stubborn young girl. Pretty and innocent, he can admit, with her light brown curls and her pale skin contrasting with sparkling cerulean eyes – but driven and stubborn, nonetheless. She hated her feelings for him, fought them off with her past of studying on Friday nights and turning down most boys who looked her way. At the time, Declan had found it quite odd that the girl was so determined not to fall for him. He was, after all, the desire of most Degrassi girls back in high school, still is according to Fiona. And, though it was wrong to lead on a girl he knew he wouldn't give minutes to on a regular basis, he still found an odd sense of what he now relents to call pride every time he caught her marveling at him.

He was arrogant in high school, Declan realizes now with a strange feeling of sheepishness, guilt, and even the verge of shame. He's happy to have changed now if he couldn't have done it then. Perhaps, it's Yale and the adjusting that must come with blending into a sea of perfection most of the times superior to his own. But there's more to the transformation that seemed to grow even more when Fiona began to pull herself away from the things that weighed on what could have been her own imperfect perfection. She began to smooth out all her faults, and Declan had felt it necessary to take a step back and glance for any mistakes on his part as well – just to say he, too, was attempting to better himself.

Still drowning in his shallow pool of pride that teetered over haughtiness, he hadn't expected to see a great deal of flaws if any at all. And the truth had just about horrified him. In fact, he had overreacted in quite the epic manner following the realization, had painted himself to be a self-conceited and ignorant fool.

That wasn't the case, of course. After all, in theory, he had right to be satisfied with himself – and everyone does, of course. But Declan was the obvious kind of person to create that image for his self – wealthy, charming, and the general description of handsome. That's why most people overlooked his slight sense of smugness, shrugging it off if they even noticed it at all.

There were the occasional eye rolls and cough-hidden scoffs resulting of his presence from time to time, and, though looking back he blamed his hauteur for this, he came to realize that his personality might not have made a difference in situations like that. When you have access to the wealth that Declan Coyne does, people tend to form assumptions whether they're fitting or not.

Eventually the scare of what he thought to be eighteen years of ignorance wore off as he realized that his stereotype had hidden his true personality, and, though that didn't change the image most people had of him – rich and stuck up – it did give him an odd sense of relief that, at least, they hadn't formed their opinions off of his true self – whom he was trying to transform into a more modest man nowadays.

But back to Clare Edwards – the girl who may or may not have formed her opinion on him based off of his true self. Recall that, at the time, it would have made no difference. Yes, she was an odd creature to him. She accepted her attraction to him among her peers, yet she seemed to deny it to herself alone. Perhaps, she found it easier to allow her friends to believe she had a crush on Declan simply because denial to them was useless – it was the struggle she seemed to be having with her own mind that proved confusing to Declan. Anyone who allowed it to become established news around school had to have it settled in their own mind.

Unless, of course, Clare cared little about the rumors that floated around school. At the time, that was a foreign concept to Declan – no one could simply ignore those type of things.

No one except the fascinating and somewhat mind-boggling girl he was soon to find Clare Edwards was.

Don't get him wrong; he wasn't the least bit attracted to the young girl, at least not in the way she was to him. She was pretty, sure, maybe even beautiful – but she would be someone else's beauty someday. A lucky guy, most definitely – but also a guy quite different from Declan. Arrogant as he was back then, even his high school self could see that Clare Edwards would make someone very happy – it just wasn't him.

He left before she found that guy, and, glancing over Eli now, he can see why Fiona spoke in past tense. He is _not _the kind of guy Clare Edwards would fall for; it must have been a short-lived relationship with little common ground and even some sort of bet or dare involved.

Still, he must admit he's surprised that Clare would take on such an . . . _experimental_ relationship. He always saw her as the type of girl who would hold out for the perfect man before falling into a long-lasting if not_ ever_lasting relationship. It puzzles him that she dated a boy that was quite obviously not her soul mate – and he's sure Clare wouldn't be so naïve as to think that maybe Eli was just that.

"Has Clare dated a lot of guys?" Declan asks, turning to his sister who has either been oblivious to his long trains of thought or has simply decided to let him explore his mind for the time being.

He starts to believe it is the latter when Fiona perks her head up with a gentle, "Hmm?" as if she wasn't expecting him to speak again, despite the fact that they were practically in the middle of a conversation when his mind began to wander.

Either that or she, too, was trapped in her mind during these past minutes.

"Clare," he repeats, "Does she date a lot of guys?"

"Clare Edwards?" Fiona sighs, "Well, not really. Her relationship with Eli lasted quite a while, but now she's with" – Fiona turns to make sure Eli can't hear as if this name is painful for him, and, even though he seems to be fully engulfed in the book he's reading, she still lowers her voice – "Jake Martins."

"New?" Declan guesses, not recognizing the name, and Fiona nods, her chocolate curls bouncing on her shoulders.

"He's from some rural, woodsy area." Fiona's gaze directs to the corners of her eyes in thought, and she cringes just a bit, a distasteful expression flashing over her face for a moment. Declan sees a glimpse of the old Fiona, and he chuckles.

"Let me guess," he chortles, "A saw-bearing, plaid-wearing lumber jack?"

Fiona smiles but just shrugs. "He seems nice enough, and he's smart, pretty funny, too . . ." But she seems rather reluctant.

"Well, he sounds good for Clare," Declan murmurs.

Fiona's blue eyes grow strangely distant for a moment, almost sad. "Yeah, I think so, too," she sighs, and Declan can't understand why her voice is layered with tiredness and pity. Not until he witnesses his sister offer a quick concern and sympathy filled glance back at her dark friend in the corner. For some reason, the glance of compassion from his sister makes Declan reconsider his initial presumption concerning Eli Goldsworthy.

What has Clare Edwards been up to in this past year?

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**Well, what can I say? Clare Edwards nowadays makes me feel frazzled. And, judging by tonight's episode, I have a feeling she will be making a startling revelation about who she's become very soon. But I, being the Declan-missing, Terra Nova-scorning person I am, decided to play around with this pairing.**

**I will say this once. There is no romance between them. So, if you're looking for a crackship, search elsewhere. I'm merely trying to tell the story of two people who have changed immensely in a year of separation that are reuniting to help each other find their path again.**

**I'm sorry for this ridiculously long note. Favorite it, alert it, or if you're feeling especially generous, maybe even review it :)**


	2. Double Deckers

Part 2

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**The contradicting forms of silence – New beginnings – Missing sunshine, missing rainbows – Double Deckers – Lost innocence**

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Rainy days don't accommodate the Coynes well – or the twin siblings, rather. Their mother's flight has been delayed a great deal pending tropical storms on the horizon of Honduras. But that's not what makes the condominium feel empty and quite honestly lonely, even though it's shared by two beings.

It's the silence. It perches delicately between Fiona and Declan, bringing with it the realization for Declan and maybe Fiona, too – They barely know each other anymore. Fiona sips a light and fragile glass of iced tea with her pink, creamy lips, and she keeps her blue eyes over the cup every time she sets it gently on the countertop, her vision tracing the blended reflections in the ice cubes floating above the surface.

Fiona is much quieter than she used to be, and part of him thinks it is soothing knowing that his sister waits in settling and calm silence rather than the trapped or rejected kind like she used to. She seems not to mind the quiet. While it sends odd cringes of uneasiness and awkwardness down Declan's back, it seems to rest on the shoulders of Fiona, wafting effortlessly around her perfect features. He knows nothing about his own sister – and it's only been a year.

She gives him a natural smile before sliding gently off the stool and moving to a glass table with magnolias and numerous papers in neat piles sitting on it. Her pale fingers brush through the thin stacks before removing one of the papers with handwriting scrawled all over it, puffy borders surrounding some paragraphs and quickly compromised arrows guiding them into a confusing order. Declan has little time to see what particular words and ideas the writing forms before it is out of his view and Fiona is holding a silver cell phone to her ear.

She seems to be having a profound conversation, her eyes deep in thought as they ponder the words on the page. "Or perhaps we could move that to act three," she suggests, and Declan sighs as he realizes she's discussing the newest play she is directing. He tries to picture the old Fiona having the patience to guide a whole cast of students through a theater production and almost chuckles aloud.

"Fi," he murmurs, and she turns with a questioning yet kind look – there's no irritation like one would expect, "I think I'm going to get some air on the streets."

She arches an eyebrow before directing an emphasized gaze at the sheets of rain coming down on the window. "Am I really that boring?" She asks, hinting at just a bit of sarcasm like the old days.

"No, no," he's quick to correct.

Her eyes dart back to the air in front of her as she focuses on the other line, huffing a tad. "No, Eli," she says, "I wasn't talking to you."

"I just need to catch up on this place," he sighs, and Fiona smiles a bit before nodding and finally turning her back to him as she continues to study the crinkled piece of paper.

He wraps himself in a rain jacket slung over a hook in the main entrance and takes a deep breath. Toronto has changed a great deal since he was here last – its people even more. But maybe, above all, _he_ is different.

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He's not actually wet; the jacket guards him from the sheets of cool raindrops that pelt the sidewalk around him, and he keeps his cheeks protected by looking down at his shoes as he walks, allowing his face to rest inside the hood of the jacket.

Not many people wander the streets at this time, but Declan enjoys the rain in a way that he never would have understood a year ago. He likes the way the air smells fresh and the rain washes away the dirt and garbage cluttering the sidewalk – and everything just starts over. A new beginning to a downward spiral that cowered at the sound of distant thunder. Declan truly believes that the rain saves us from the end – he, himself, seems to have come close to discovering whatever that may be.

Sometimes, when it's raining on campus, he slips out of his dormitory and walks the pathways alone, hidden in the deep undergrowth and foliage. He has his way memorized so that concentration on direction and steps is unnecessary, and he glances ahead, his eyes open in a way that makes them feel closed.

Other times, he stays inside and sits on the thickest area of the window sill, resting his forehead on the cool glass and watching the raindrops land on it, wondering just how far they had to travel to find their home here – and how disappointed they must be when they dry away to nothing in a matter of mere minutes, replaced by new and oblivious tears.

He reaches out his palm, immediately feeling the force of many raindrops finding home on his skin, washed pale by the storm. He places his other hand gingerly over them in hopes of keeping them alive – but it's no use. They seep into the pores of his skin and mist away.

They never had a chance.

He sighs, directing his gaze across the street at a trendy-looking café, dampened and dulled in the rain. _The Dot. _He frowns; it's been refurnished now, and Declan likes it the old way better. He used to visit this place with Holly J. They skipped class once to go there for the first time together, taking time afterwards to rummage through the booths of homemade jewelry and knitted hats and scarves that lined the street. He bought her a silver chain decorated with a solitary diamond, hand-carved into the shape of a heart. It dangled over her pale skin, embracing beautiful swirls of rainbow colors whenever sunshine cast over it. And, sometimes, when Declan watched her from a distance, taking a mind-straining math quiz or carrying on one of her relentless fundraisers, he'd noticed her run a hand over the necklace, twirling it between her fingers and glancing down at it briefly – sometimes absentmindedly and sometimes meaningfully.

HJ doesn't wear the necklace anymore. There aren't many sunny days at Yale, anyway.

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The inside of The Dot isn't as foreign as the exterior. Metallic tables and stools still scatter the gray-tile floor; there are a few stacked in the corner, and, looking closely, Declan can see the small, liquid beads decorating their surfaces. He assumes they have been brought in from the sidewalk outside.

The counter is located in the same place, though it's now covered with posters and sticky notes, and the cash register is on the far opposite end. The menu, posted on one of the boards, is now filled with petite and fresh-sounding choices like tuna wraps and cranberry salad. Instead of a Double Deckers – the odd and laughable name given to two cheeseburgers in one sandwich – there is a "double cheeseburger." It's placed off to the corner of the menu as if people rarely order it.

Spinner Mason no longer works here, and he's glad – for two reasons, really. One: That most hopefully means that Spinner has been admitted into training to become a police officer like he always wanted to. And two: Though the two might have been friends for the majority of the time Declan spent in Toronto, the summer ended on quite the unfortunate note when Spinner overheard Jane, his girlfriend, and Holly J. discussing a long-past affair that had occurred briefly between Jane and Declan. Declan left the scene with an icepack pressed to his jaw and never saw Spinner again.

Instead, a boy with brown, spiked hair and freckles emerges from the kitchen, gives him a faint smile, and asks him what it is he'd like to order.

"Cherry Blitz?" Declan asks, and the boy arches his head to the side.

"I'm sorry . . . What is that?"

"You mix lemonade and cherry soda. Spinner used to make them all the time . . ." Declan trails off, noticing the clueless expression seeping over the teenager's features. "Actually, a Pepsi is fine."

The kid nods and turns back into the kitchen.

A light moan sounds from the corner of the restaurant, and Declan turns his head to see two teenagers making out behind a booth. A tall and fair-skinned boy with brown hair and a plaid shirt is nearly straddling a girl blocked from Declan's view, though he can see hints of light brown curls and a floral shirt. Their lips are clashing almost feverishly, hands roaming and faces flushed. Declan can't help but smirk just a bit.

"We need some PDA policy," mutters someone behind him in a low and resentful voice, and Declan turns to meet the eyes of the freckled faced boy holding a Pepsi can in his hand. He slides it over to Declan before glancing back at the two in the corner.

"Thanks," Declan murmurs, watching the teenagers for another moment as well. "Is this a regular occurrence with them?" He chuckles.

"Every afternoon," the boy confirms irritably, "And to think I ever liked that girl."

"Who is she?" Declan asks, straining to see around the boy that is smothering her.

"Her name's Clare," the boy mutters, and Declan stops, feeling his eyes widen.

"Not Clare Edwards," Declan mutters, shaking his head, but the boy nods.

"Yeah, that's her," he says, "How do you know her?"

It takes Declan a long moment to realize that the boy has asked him a question, still stunned by the scene unfolding in front of him. " . . . I used to know her," he murmurs, "Actually, it was only a year ago."

"Bet she seems different," he mutters, "Not that most people even remember _Saint Clare _anymore."

Declan can't help it – his eyes wander down to Clare's left hand, gripping the fabric of her boyfriend's shirt, and he gasps. The silver ring is gone, and Declan can't stop staring.

"If you're waiting for the trick to wear off and the ring to appear . . . it's not going to," the boy sighs, and Declan turns back to him.

"You know about that?"

The boy gives him a strange look before smirking. "Who doesn't? When you wear an abstinence ring throughout all of high school and then one day just show up without it . . . it naturally becomes news."

"She . . ." Declan can't even say it.

The boy chuckles, "She claims she lost it . . . The _ring_, I mean."

"Is that true?" Declan asks hesitantly, snapping open the Pepsi.

He shrugs. "How should I know? I mean, I used to know her real well – never thought she'd break her vow . . . But people change, as you can see. Clare and I don't talk anymore."

"Yeah, same with us," Declan murmurs, taking a quick sip of his soda.

"So what? Did you used to go to Degrassi or . . . ?" He trails off raising his eyebrows for Declan to finish.

"Yeah," Declan murmurs, "My name's Declan – Declan Coyne."

"Oh, okay, you're Fiona's brother, right?"

Declan just nods, still distracted by the soft moans that sound like sirens in his ears.

"Well," the boy says, holding out a hand across the counter, "My name's Mark. But you can just call me Fitz."

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** So, there you all have it. Next chapter, things will start to build up, I promise. **

** Reviews are greatly appreciated, as are favorites and alerts.**


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